


Trapped

by Afterthebattle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Deathly Hallows AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24289282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afterthebattle/pseuds/Afterthebattle
Summary: Draco Malfoy has lost his magical powers. Desperate to cure his son, Lucius Malfoy kidnaps Hermione Granger in the hope that she can somehow solve the problem. Draco and Hermione are placed in a secret section of the Manor, forced to live together while she works on the task.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	1. The problem

**Author's Note:**

> Corona made me bored so I started translating my 180k Dramione fic into English. It's a story about being trapped - in more ways than one. I certainly don't see myself translating all of it, but I wanted to share some of it with you out of love for the pairing :-) You can find the Danish version of the story on my profile in case you're interested.
> 
> I apologize in advance for any translation or spelling errors!

”I think she’s waking up.”

Hermione slowly opened her eyes. A dull pain throbbed at the back of her neck as if she’d been lying too long in an unnatural position. Light and shadow blurred together, making it impossible for her to make sense of her surroundings. She moved her head, feeling a headache pound in her temples.

“She’s conscious now, Father.”

She shifted a little, rolling onto her side. Apparently, she was lying on a mattress. An old, ill-smelling mattress, but a mattress, nonetheless.

_Where was she?_

She blinked several times, hoping that her vision would sharpen. In front of her, two people were moving, but she couldn’t tell who they were. The world began to come into focus, and she was finally able to see their faces.

Their pale, cold faces.

She jolted up when she recognized them, which caused a wave of nausea to sweep through her. Not caring about the spinning feeling, she crawled backwards until her back hit solid stone. Instinctively, she reached for her wand, but found nothing. Her pockets were empty.

“How nice of you to finally join us, Miss Granger,” Lucius Malfoy drawled.

His eyes were narrowed into slits. She turned her head, looking at the person next to him. Draco Malfoy’s gaze was burning with spite, a stark contrast to his father’s calculating expression.

“Where am I?” she asked.

As expected, no answer came.

“Give me back my wand.” Her voice trembled as she spoke. “If you plan on killing me, at least have the decency to let me die with dignity.”

Lucius Malfoy gave low, hoarse laugh that did not match his usual aristocratic haughtiness at all. The sound made her blood run cold. She hadn’t noticed his worn-out appearance until now. His face was slightly sunken, making his cheekbones stand out, and his skin had a yellow tinge to it, which was highlighted by the dark half-circles under his eyes.

“Even in a situation like this you insist on clinging to your pathetic notion of _dignity_. Believe me, if we wanted to kill you, we would have done so already.”

He regarded her in silence for a couple of seconds. Then he turned to his son.

“Draco, I would like to have a conversation with Miss Granger in private. Leave us.”

The boy frowned.

”But Father, I –”

”Do as I say.”

Pink spots appeared on Draco’s cheeks. He was obviously upset. With a stiff nod, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Hermione looked around. Apart from the bed she was sitting on, there was only one other piece of furniture in the room: a dusty bookshelf. There were no windows. The only light came from a bare light bulb that hung from the ceiling. The walls were empty and seemed to be caving in on her, making her dizzy once again.

Malfoy drew his wand. Her stomach knotted in fear as she stared at the weapon. He didn’t seem intent on using it, however, because he remained completely still. He just stared at her, appearing to be lost in thought. His silence was unbearable.

She swallowed. If he wasn’t going to say anything, she might as well be the one to do it. She lifted her head, trying to look brave as she spoke:

“Where am I?”

“Malfoy Manor.”

She was surprised to get an actual reply this time. The answer puzzled her. Her eyes darted to the light bulb in the ceiling. Since when did the Malfoys start using electricity? She didn’t have time to dwell on the thought. Other things were more important. She looked back at Malfoy.

“What do you want with me?”

A small smile crept over his face, but it devoid of any sort of joy.

“Miss Granger, what is the last thing you remember?”

Slowly she recalled what had happened. She sat on the bed, breathing deeply as the memories came rushing back to her. She remembered the sounds of trampling footsteps, screams and … thunder? No, it had been explosions. Explosions that had made the ground shake beneath her. Beams of light had shot past her, missing her by a millimeter …

Her breathing became erratic as the events flickered through her mind.

“Harry and I were in Godric’s Hollow,” she whispered. “We were attacked.”

Malfoy nodded heavily.

She tried to remember what else had happened. She and Harry had thought they were safe. They had just left the graveyard when the Death Eaters had arrived. There had been four of them. Dolohov, Rowle, Avery, and –

Her eyes widened.

”You were there, too!”

”Correct, Miss Granger.”

She had caught a glimpse of him when fighting Avery. The Death Eater had been about to cast the Cruciatus Curse when Ron had come to her rescue.

Her heart hammered painfully in her chest at the thought.

Ron had come back. He had _saved_ her. That was the last thing she remembered happening before she had taken cover behind a wall. Then she had felt a sudden pain in the back of her head, and everything had gone black.

She stared at Malfoy.

“Ron. What happened to Ron?”

If anything had happened to Ron, she would never forgive herself.

“After his little display of heroics, the freckled fool managed to escape.”

“What about …”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, having guessed her question already.

“Potter escaped too.”

She drew a sigh of relief. They were alive! And they had escaped. In that case, her getting captured meant nothing. Harry and Ron still had a chance to find and destroy Voldemort’s Horcruxes and win the war. There was still hope.

Malfoy pointed his wand at her.

“Don’t you dare smile.”

Fear caused the corners of her mouth to turn downward.

“I assure you; it is no smiling matter. The Dark Lord was furious when he heard about what had happened. We were all punished for the lack of results, especially I, who had already disappointed him once before.”

He paused, staring gloomily into space. Then the expression fell away, and the ghost of a smile hovered on his lips.

”But I got what I wanted from the attack.”

She struggled to comprehend the meaning of his words.

“But why … why did you want _me_? I thought the Death Eaters hunted us to kill us.”

“Oh, we do. And I would kill you on the spot if it weren’t for the fact that I need you.”

The look of pure hatred in his eyes left no doubt that he was telling the truth. She felt the color drain from her face.

He let out a low chuckle. He _knew_ she was afraid. Trying to summon a bit of bravery, she pushed herself forward, so that she was sitting properly on the bed. Malfoy appeared to notice the change because the smile immediately disappeared from his face.

“Allow me to correct myself,” he continued. “ _My son_ needs you. You see, he –“

“Draco?” She asked, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “How –“

Her head whipped to the side as something struck her face, leaving a searing burn just beneath her cheekbone. A small cry escaped her, and she scrambled back on the bed, pressing herself against the wall. Malfoy lowered his wand, apparently satisfied with her reaction.

So much for trying to be brave.

“I was speaking, Miss Granger. Please keep your mouth shut until I’m finished. And in the future, I would appreciate it if you would refrain from using my son’s first name. Muggles are not allowed that kind of privilege.”

“I’m not a Muggle,” she whispered.

Her voice was so low, she doubted he could even hear her. A sharp sting on her right cheek told her that the words had not escaped his attention.

She lifted her head and looked at him. He stared back, raising his eyebrows slightly, as if asking her if she had any other rebellious tendencies left in her. She gritted her teeth, cursing inwardly, deciding not to say anything unless he asked her directly.

“As I was saying, I need you to help my son. You see, he has found himself in an … unfortunate predicament. You remember the fight at the Burrow a couple of months ago, I’m sure?”

She nodded.

The attack that had ruined Bill and Fleur’s wedding had been the beginning of months of chaos for her, Ron and Harry. They had been thrown into their hunt for Horcruxes without any real time to prepare. She had no idea what had happened to the rest of the wedding guests after the three of them had left.

“Draco was one of the Death Eaters tasked with capturing Potter,” Malfoy explained. “He dueled with Arthur Weasley’s spawn.”

Hermione was about to ask what family members he was talking about, but a warning look made her stay quiet.

“He stood his ground even though it was two against one.”

Her lips parted slightly. Two? Then it had to be –

“Yes, Miss Granger, as you no doubt have guessed, it was the twins. During the fight, my son was hit by an unknown spell.”

“There are no unknown spells. Only spells whose origins and effects are hard to track down.”

She regretted it as soon as the words had left her lips. A burning pain spread across her cheek, making her whimper. She knew she shouldn’t have said anything, but she hadn’t been able to help it.

Malfoy looked at her. Anger made a vein in his temples pulse visibly.

“I know that the spell is unknown because I have personally examined several wizarding archives in search of it.” He seemed to realize the extent of his anger, taking a deep breath. “But your attitude proves that I was right to bring you here. If there is a way to lift the spell, I am sure that you will find it.”

He was calmer now. Hermione hesitated.

“But ... what happened?” she asked. “What did the spell do?”

Malfoy’s mouth settled into a straight line, but he didn’t raise his wand this time, allowing her the question. His hands had begun to shake. They were clenched so tightly that the knuckles started turning white. He broke eye contact, looking at the floor instead. His gaze burned with such an intensity that she wouldn’t have been surprised seeing the stone crack from the weight of it.

“He can no longer do magic.”

His voice was low, yet the words were impossible for her to miss. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She didn’t know what to say. All she could do was gawk.

Draco Malfoy had lost his magical powers.

She stared at Lucius Malfoy, who still looked furious.

“Do you mean that he …” she began, almost whispering, “that he has become a …”

Before she could blink, Malfoy’s wand was inches from her head.

”Say that word, and I will make sure you never speak again.”

She felt the cool, wooden tip press against her forehead. Her heart leapt into her throat, making her unable to breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut. After what felt like an eternity, Malfoy removed his wand.

 _A Squib_. Draco Malfoy had become a Squib.

She opened her eyes, swallowing down hard.

“And now … after … after what has happened,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “you want _me_ to lift the spell that hit him?”

“Exactly.”

She took an uneasy breath. There was still one thing that didn’t make sense.

“Why do you want _me_ to do it? Why can’t you get someone on your side to help?”

A hollow laugh escaped Malfoy’s lips. She didn’t like the sound.

”You stupid girl. Don’t you understand?” He shook his head, looking at her with an almost manic expression. “Do you really think I would be able to tell _anyone_ about my son’s condition? Are you aware how much shame it would bring to my family?”

He stepped closer to the bed, leaning over her. Terrified, she pressed her back hard against the wall.

“Why do you think I made such an effort to bring you here? After knocking you unconscious, I put an invisibility spell on you and did not return before midnight so that no one would know what I was doing. _No one_ can know what has happened. If the Dark Lord finds out that my son has lost his magical powers, he will not hesitate to kill him.”

Malfoy’s face was mere inches from hers, drops of spittle flying from his mouth as he spoke. She didn’t dare to breathe.

“You have both been placed in a part of the Manor unknown to even the Dark Lord himself. The only people that know you’re here are my wife and I. The rest of the world thinks that you are dead and that Draco has been captured by the Order. And the two of you will remain here until _you_ have solved the problem.”

Finally, he stepped back. She felt tears rising in her eyes. Not wanting to appear weak, she blinked them away, raising her head.

“What if I refuse?”

In less than a second, his hand was around her throat. Her head flew backwards and hit the wall, filling her vision with black spots.

“You must have misunderstood me, Mudblood,” he hissed into her ear, tightening his grip. Panic surged through her as she struggled to breathe. “You do not have a _choice_. I don’t care how long it takes. You _will_ find a way to cure my son, or else I shall personally torture you until you don’t remember your own name. Do you understand?”

She stared at him, eyes widened in fear. A choking sound left her throat. He loosened his grip a little, making it possible for her to reply:

“Ye… yes.”

He let go of her.

She coughed violently, rubbing her sore throat. For the first time since she had arrived, tears streamed down her face. She didn’t try to hold them back anymore. Malfoy’s act of violence had made her realize how vulnerable she really was. She had no choice but to do what he asked. The man would clearly do _anything_ to save his son and his reputation.

As her breathing became closer to normal, she lifted her gaze and looked at him. He was breathing harshly, but except from that his face had become immovable once more. She wiped away the wet streaks on her cheeks, wondering how he could be so unaffected by what he had just done.

“Good,” he muttered.

She sniffled a little, hating herself for it.

So, the Malfoys needed her help. She couldn’t leave this place until she had found a way to help Draco. And even if she managed to do that, she wasn’t sure they’d let her go anyway. They would probably just kill her.

Her stomach turned at the thought. She refused to think about that now. She couldn’t allow herself to panic.

“But …” she began.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

”How do you expect me to find a counter spell to something that no one has ever heard about before?”

The thought of having to spend her time in a basement with Draco Malfoy was bad enough, but the task they had given her seemed impossible.

Malfoy sighed impatiently. She couldn’t help but notice the tired lines in his face.

“To help you along, I have provided you with some books that may be relevant to your project.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. She glanced at the bookshelf in the other side of the room.

“They are not in here,” said Malfoy, who had followed the direction of her gaze. “This is just a _part_ of the secret section of the Manor that I have set up. You and Draco have five rooms at your disposal, one of them being a library. But I have no doubt that Draco will show you around.”

He took a step backwards.

“I have to go. If I am gone for too long, the Dark Lord will notice.”

He turned on his heels, walking toward the door. The silver embroidery on his cloak glimmered in the light from the naked light bulb above them.

“A house-elf will bring you food three times a day. Make sure not to miss any meals. After all, you need to eat to fuel that clever brain of yours. It is our most valuable asset.”

His hand rested on the door handle for a couple of seconds. She could hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke:

“Enjoy yourself.”

Then he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Hermione stared blankly into space. She had trouble grasping everything that had just happened. It all seemed so surreal.

Now that Malfoy had left, a deafening silence engulfed her. Her eyes fell on the door. She hadn’t heard him lock it on his way out, but she didn’t bother investigating it. Even if it _was_ locked, there was nothing she could do about it. And if it wasn’t … well, then she would step outside and probably find herself facing Draco Malfoy, which was the last thing she needed right now.

Realizing how hopeless everything seemed, she huddled up against the wall, barely noticing the tears that continued running down her face. Some of them clung to her chin. Others slid down her neck where the skin was still sore from Malfoy’s fingers. She looked around and spotted a woolen blanket at the end of the bed. She grabbed it and wrapped it around herself, not caring that it had stains on it and felt scratchy against her skin. There was no pillow, of course. Why even bother giving her something that comfortable?

Unable to hold herself back any longer, she started sobbing, her body shaking uncontrollably. She curled up on the bed, staring into the wall.

Lucius Malfoy’s voice resounded in her mind like a mocking echo.

_‘Enjoy yourself’._

She cried for a couple of minutes until she fell asleep, overwhelmed with exhaustion.


	2. Lock

He could hear her crying. Long, convulsive sobs cut like knives through the dark, making him turn on the bed. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the sound, but soon found that it was impossible for him to block it out. Exasperated, he opened his eyes and stared up into the ceiling.

He wouldn’t get any sleep as long as she kept making that insufferable noise.

He sighed. Was sleep really that important anyway? There was no reason for him to be rested. He had absolutely nothing to do. These last couple of months, all he had done was sit around and wait for something – _anything_ – to happen. Inactivity had seeped under his skin, into his bones. His limbs felt stiff and heavy, his movements lacking their usual ease. He was used to being active: dueling his father for practice, playing Quidditch to stay in shape, but now …

A joyless laugh left his lips, melting into the black surroundings.

_Quidditch._

The game felt so far away from the world in which he was currently living. He had difficulty comprehending how he had once cared so fiercely about who won the Quidditch cup. His life had been so simple back then. He had been ignorant, so shielded from everything. It wasn’t until his sixth year at Hogwarts that everything had changed. Until then he’d championed the pureblood cause without really understanding what it meant. But then the Dark Lord had ordered him to kill Dumbledore …

He gritted his teeth.

The mission had hung over him like a dark cloud that school year. He’d carried out two assassination attempts. Both of them had failed. And when he’d finally had the chance to kill the man up front, he couldn’t do it. The old fool had been completely defenseless, yet it had been impossible for Draco to utter the curse that would put an end to the man’s life. The words had been stuck in his throat.

He had failed his duties that night, failed his _family_. After Snape had stepped in, Draco had sworn that it wouldn’t happen again. He would restore his family’s standing in the eyes of the Dark Lord, no matter what.

Then the war had broken out and changed everything.

And now he was lying here, utterly useless because of two redheaded morons, who – in all probability – had no idea what they had done to him. Time dragged by, and he had no way of contributing to the events outside the basement. All he could do was wait and beg that his parents would get through the battles unscathed. The thought of them being hurt made his throat constrict. All the little worries in his past were nothing compared to this.

He rolled over, hating how sluggish his body felt. It wasn’t just his movements. His thoughts had become slower too. He had problems focusing, sometimes straining to think clearly. In the beginning, he’d tried keeping his brain busy by turning his attention to the books in the library, but after a few weeks he could no longer concentrate on the content of the pages. An inescapable drowsiness had come over him, clouding his thoughts like a fog.

Then he had started counting bricks. He’d counted the bricks in the wall opposite his bed twice. Seeing as he’d gotten two different results, he’d counted them a third time just to be sure.

He felt restless. Every day was a tedious bore. But it wasn’t just the way minutes seemed drawn out to into hours. The silence was maddening too. More than once he had caught himself mumbling out loud just to produce some kind of sound. He remembered the stories he’d heard about wizards losing their minds from being imprisoned in dungeons during the old wizarding wars. Maybe the same thing would happen to him. In a flash he saw himself sitting in the basement, old and mad, driven insane by the impenetrable silence.

A sob from the other side of the wall interrupted his thoughts.

 _Granger_. He actually preferred the silence next to her incessant moaning. He pressed the pillow against his ears, but it didn’t help. He could still hear her sobs echoing through the room.

She was so _pathetic_.

He had spent months here without breaking down. He refused to give into that kind of self-pity. But she was so weak. She’d only just arrived and already she’d started bawling. He wondered what his father had said to her.

Muggles didn’t have any mental discipline at all.

At least his father had managed to capture her quickly. Draco smiled. There was no doubt about his father’s skills. There was a reason he used to be highly respected among the other Death Eaters. But everything had gone wrong after his father had failed to retrieve the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries. The Dark Lord had never forgiven him for that. Draco burned with indignation when he thought about how his father had been humiliated after being freed from Azkaban.

And then _he_ had failed to kill Dumbledore …

He clenched his fists.

Once he got out of this basement, he would set everything right. He would personally capture Potter and hand him over to the Dark Lord, redeeming his family in the eyes of their leader. They would be rewarded for the deed, their reputation would be restored, and everything would like it was before, maybe even better.

But right now, there was nothing he could do. He was useless, and he would stay that way if Granger didn’t come up with a way to lift the spell. In a few hours, she would start working on a solution. He would keep a close eye on her, making sure she didn’t slack off.

Draco shifted on the bed. Something had changed. He blinked a couple of times before realizing what it was.

Granger had finally stopped crying.

He almost couldn’t believe it. Holding his breath for a couple of seconds, he waited for her to start again, but it didn’t happen. Most likely, she had fallen asleep. For once, the silence felt calming. Now that her sobs had subsided, he was able to relax, his frame sinking into the bed.

It dawned on him that maybe _was_ important for him to be rested after all. Dealing with Granger would require quite an effort.

Yes, he thought, closing his eyes.

There was no doubt Granger was going to cost him a lot of energy.

* * *

Draco opened his eyes. He looked around in the room, his vision still blurry with sleep. The first thing he noticed was the silence. Thank Merlin Granger hadn’t resumed her whining in the morning hours.

 _If_ it was morning. There was no way to tell.

He had lost all sense of time since being placed here. His parents hadn’t thought of giving him a watch. Maybe he should ask them for one the next time one of them visited. Yawning, he sat up on the bed, rubbing his eyes. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet on the floor.

After getting dressed, he left the room. He noticed that the door to Granger’s room was open, but she was nowhere to be seen. He continued down the corridor until he reached the small kitchen - if ‘kitchen’ was the proper term. It consisted of a table, a sink, two chairs and a cupboard with a bit of food in it. The food was necessary, should his parents’ flow of supplies stop for some reason.

Two plates had been placed on the table. One of them was empty.

It seemed she had already eaten.

He sat down at the table, studying the food on his plate with disinterest. A piece of bread with butter on it and an apple. The food in this place was by no means varied. At least he got a piece of fruit for once. He reached for the apple, wanting to sink his teeth into it, but stopped himself after looking at _her_ plate.

A few crumbs still remained on it. Just the thought of her having eaten from it sickened him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to eat with the plate still in sight. With a hiss, he got up from the chair.

Why didn’t she clean up after herself? Now he was forced to do elf-work just because she had no manners.

Wincing, he grabbed the plate. He crossed the kitchen floor and put it in the sink. Turning on the tap, he splashed some water on it and started rubbing a piece of soap between his hands. He realized that they would probably eat from the same plates again. At some point, the plates would undoubtedly get mixed up, and he would end up eating from the same plate as her. The thought disgusted him.

He closed the tap, drying his hands on a small towel.

He returned to his seat, examining the content of his plate once again. At least it didn’t seem like she’d touched his food. The slice of bread seemed intact. Thank Merlin. With a sigh of relief, he started eating.

After finishing the meal, he decided to find Granger. There was only one place she could be, he realized. He walked down the corridor stopping in front of the door to the library. Slowly, he pushed down the door handle, opening the door as quietly as possible.

He looked into the room.

Granger was sitting in a chair behind the desk, on which several rolls of parchment were placed. She was reading. He smiled in satisfaction. Of course she was – that’s what she’d been ordered to do. A mane of curls covered most of her face. He caught a glimpse of her nose, which was mere inches from the pages of a heavy book.

He stepped closer.

“Good morning, Granger.”

Her head rose with a start. She looked at him with a confused expression that soon turned into a glare.

“Good morning,” she replied coolly.

”Making progress?”

The question made her snort.

“I only just started a few hours ago.”

“So?” He moved a bit closer. “Didn’t you use to brag about being the best in our year?”

“I don’t _brag_ , Malfoy,” she said, turning her attention back to the book. “I leave that kind of thing to people like you.”

“So it’s not bragging when someone raises their hand before the teacher can even finish the question?”

She sighed.

“I don’t want to have this conversation right now. It’s ridiculous.”

He knew she was right. It seemed absurd to talk about trivial things like school, but he didn’t care. It gave him a break from all the frustration that had been eating away at him for the last couple of months.

“Believe me, I don’t want to talk to you either.”

“Then what are you doing here? Why don’t you just leave me in peace so that I can concentrate?”

He smiled coldly.

”I just wanted to make sure that you were doing some work.”

“And as you can see, that is the case. Now go.”

“It’s quite satisfying seeing you work for us,” he continued, ignoring her words. “It _is_ the natural order of society, after all.”

He saw her grip on the book tighten, which only spurred him on.

“You’re a Muggle. It’s only fair that you do what Purebloods like us order you to do. I’m happy you’ve finally accepted that.”

Granger closed the book, her eyes seething with resentment.

“I haven’t accepted anything, Malfoy, and you know that. I don’t have a _choice_.”

He nodded.

“Exactly as it should be. It is a misunderstanding that you have other choices than to obey us. It’s nothing but propaganda spouted by Mudbloods like you. And the worst thing about it is that people have started to believe your ridiculous ideas of equality.”

“Maybe that’s because they _aren’t_ ridiculous.”

He almost rolled his eyes at that.

“Of course they are. You’re nothing but a bunch of freaks, whose presence in the wizarding world disrupts the natural order.”

“No, we’re not. And you’d be able to see that if you weren’t so blinded by your precious Pureblood ideology. You can’t judge someone based on who they were born as. It doesn’t make sense.”

Her arrogance was astounding. It made his blood boil. He stepped closer, putting his hands on the desk.

“It’s the _only_ thing that makes sense,” he hissed. “Pure blood is what makes someone worthy of doing magic. To deny that is to deny all the rules of wizarding society, which you obviously did when you started parading yourselves as our equals. We should never had let your kind into our world.”

He managed to withdraw his hands just in time before the heavy book slammed down into the desk. Granger had gotten up, moving so quickly that he had barely had time to register it. Her eyes were blazing.

“I refuse to discuss this with you.”

He smiled, raising his chin slightly.

“Run out of arguments, Granger?”

“It’s not that I don’t have any arguments, it’s just that they would be wasted on you since you’re obviously a fanatic. And fanatics don’t respond to reason.”

A snort of disbelief flew out his mouth.

“Are you saying _your_ arguments are based in reason? That’s laughable, Granger.”

She sat down again. Slowly, she opened the book.

“As I said, I don’t want to talk about it. Clearly, my line of reasoning is too complex for you to follow.”

Anger shot through him. How dared she? She was nothing but a Mudblood. How _dared_ she imply that he was intellectually inferior? That she was somehow _better_ than him? Her perverse sense of superiority made him clench his fists so hard his bones started aching.

She didn’t even blink.

“As long as you keep on distracting me, I won’t make any progress,” she said calmly. “I’m going to continue my work now. I don’t care if you stay in here as long as you stay quiet.”

He bit back the words rising in his throat, clenching his jaw to the point where it was almost painful. Without saying another word, he threw himself into a chair next to the desk, making sure to make as much noise as possible. Granger didn’t react.

The room fell silent. Draco looked at her with a scowl. She’d already immersed herself in the book once more. How was it possible for her to ignore him like this? It seemed unfair that she could be so indifferent when he was sitting here, insides burning with anger.

She bent her head to examine an illustration in the book, brushing a stray curl behind her ear, and suddenly he noticed something he hadn’t noticed before: A small scar on her cheek. He’d been so absorbed in their discussion earlier he hadn’t noticed it back then.

“What’s that?”

She turned her head, shooting him an annoyed look.

“What?”

To his surprised he saw an identical mark on her other cheek. They hadn’t been there when she’d arrived, he was sure of it.

“The marks on your face. Where did they come from?”

“Ask your father.”

Draco couldn’t help smiling. So it was his father’s doing. No doubt he had made her show a little respect.

He tilted his head.

”Are you afraid of him?”

She was quiet for a couple of seconds as if debating whether to answer his question or rebuff it with a sharp remark.

“He has a wand and I don’t. Of course I’m scared of him.”

“That’s really brave, Granger.”

Her eyes sparkled with bitterness.

“And you think _you’d_ be braver if you were in my place? Somehow, I doubt it. I don’t recall you ever showing any kind of real courage. You’ve always hidden behind Crabbe and Goyle.”

He leapt up from the chair.

“Shut your –“

“And whenever you found yourself in a dangerous situation, you behaved like a pathetic child. I remember back in our third year when you were kicked by Buckbeak. You were howling with pain for hours after it’d happened.”

He pressed his lips together, the experience flashing before his eyes. If only that retarded half-giant had been able to keep his pet under control …

“That was a long time ago,” he snarled.

And it was true. It seemed like ages since he’d been lying in the paddock outside the Forbidden Forrest, clutching his bleeding arm against his chest. So much had happened since then. She had no idea what he’d been through; what he had _seen_ that summer he’d spent with the other Death Eaters.

“You have been a coward your whole life. The only time you risked anything was when trying to kill Dumbledore and even then –“

He’d had enough. Rage shot through him, making his vision blur.

“Shut _up_!”

In a second, he was in front of her, grabbing her arm and hauling her away from the desk. She stumbled across the floor, trying to free herself, but he dragged her with him, hurling her into the corridor. She tried to run, but he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her against the wall. He may not be able to do magic, but he was still stronger than her.

“You bitch! You have no idea what I’ve been through!”

For the first time there was real fear in her yes. He could feel her shaking. It gave him a sense of grim satisfaction to know that she wasn’t so cocky anymore.

“How do think it feels to know that you have to kill another person? Knowing that, if you fail, you yourself will be killed?”

She stared at him, no trace of an answer in her brown eyes.

“Don’t you dare judge me,” he hissed. “You don’t know me _at all_.”

Her lower lip was trembling. Judging from the look on her face, it seemed like he’d gotten his point across. Good. Still breathing harshly with anger, he dragged her to her room, pushing her through the door. She looked at him with a bewildered stare. Her mouth opened as if she wanted to say something.

Without giving her the chance, he slammed the door shut.

He started searching through his pockets. After a few seconds, he found what he was looking for, cool metal grazing his fingertips. He grabbed the key and shoved it into the lock, turning it until a clicking sound told him that Granger had no way of leaving the room.

Inwardly, he thanked his father for giving him a key when bringing Granger here. Yesterday he hadn’t thought he would ever use it, but right now it seemed like a gift from above. That damned Mudblood really got on his nerves, even more than Potter used to. He really _was_ going mad if she was able to affect him in this way. And, to his great regret, he couldn’t keep her locked in her room forever.

No matter how much it pained him, he had to come to terms with her being here. They’d have to live side by side for quite some time. He rested his forehead against the wall trying to push the thought far, far back into his mind.

By Salazar .. _._ He longed for the day when all this would be over, and they would finally be able to get rid of her.


	3. Books

Hermione stumbled through the door, trying to regain her balance. She looked back at Malfoy, shocked by the fuming anger in his eyes. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him like this. When he slammed the door, she was almost glad she didn’t have to look at his furious face anymore.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Her heart was still beating wildly in her chest. She realized that everything had gone completely quiet as if Malfoy had left. But she could tell from the shadow beneath the door that he was still there. She didn’t dare to step closer, in case he flung the door open with a sudden movement, so she just waited.

Then there was a sound. The metallic sound of a key turning in the lock followed by a soft ‘click’. She stared at the door, stunned.

He had locked her in her room.

She stepped over to the door, pushing down the handle. The action seemed absurd. After all, she’d just heard him lock the door. But she didn’t care. Perhaps he’d just rattled the key in the lock to scare her. She tried opening it.

It didn’t move.

She started shaking the handle vigorously, but it didn’t help. She slammed her hand against the door.

“Let me out!”

There was no answer.

She knew he was still out there, probably wearing a smug expression. She hammered her fists against the door, letting out a sound of frustration.

“I mean it, Malfoy! Open the door!”

She put more force behind the blows. There was still no reaction. Cursing under her breath, she stepped away from the door.

He couldn’t _do_ this to her.

She rolled her eyes at herself. Sure he could. She should have expected something like this to happen. Even though they were both trapped down here, Malfoy had, of course, been given an advantage. His family had to ensure that he could control her in some way now that he no longer had magic at his disposal.

She inhaled deeply. Banging her fists against the door was futile. She should try focusing on her advantages instead. Or rather: advantage. As far as she could tell, she only had one:

“As long as you keep me in here, I won't be able to continue my work.”

There was a mocking sputter from the other side of the door.

“I think the project can wait for a little while, don’t you?”

Although she couldn’t see him, she knew he was smiling.

“A few hours in there will do you good, I think. You can entertain yourself by counting bricks. It’s very stimulating.”

She clenched her fists so tightly it hurt. He wasn’t going to let her out any time soon.

“Fine,” she said, not allowing him the pleasure of hearing how desperate she really felt. “I could use a break anyway.”

His shadow moved as he stepped away from the door, leaving the corridor. She focused on the sound of his footsteps slowly fading away.

Now all she could do was wait.

She lifted her hand, rubbing her shoulder. Pain throbbed through the place where his fingertips had dug into her skin. Just what she needed – more bruises. As if the ones she’d gotten from Lucius Malfoy weren't enough.

She had been so stunned when he’d leapt up from the chair and grabbed her that she hadn’t been able to react. Manhandling people like that didn’t seem like Malfoy’s style. He had never behaved like this at Hogwarts. Back then he’d used his _words_ to bully his victims, leaving brute force to his two henchmen.

She rolled her eyes at herself. So, she pretended to know him now? She should really stop doing that. What was the point? She didn’t _want_ to understand him.

At any rate, her words must’ve struck a nerve since they’d made him react like that.

She turned around, walking to the bed.

If only she hadn’t provoked him …

If she’d just kept her mouth shut, she wouldn’t have ended up in here. But for some reason, provoking him had felt surprisingly good. Making him tremble with rage had – for a few seconds, at least – made her feel like she’d had just a tiny amount of control.

With a sigh, she sat down on the bed. Her hands were sore from banging against the door. How was she supposed to pass time while being trapped in here? She considered taking a nap. At least that would make the hours go by faster. But she could still feel the adrenalin pumping through her veins after Malfoy’s burst of anger. Sleep wouldn’t be an option for many minutes.

She looked around the room, her eyes stopping at the bookshelf. She blinked.

_Books._

She could spend her time reading.

Quickly, she grabbed a book from the shelf, brushing off the dusty cover. Specks of dust whirled into the air, blinking in the harsh light from the light bulb in the ceiling. She opened the book and started reading:

_... In the Middle Ages, Muggles hunted witches, believing them to be associated with the Devil. Common methods of execution for convicted witches were hanging, drowning and burning. Burning was often favored, particularly in Europe, as it was considered a more painful way to die. Being burned at the stake was a horrible death, although, in some cases, the witch would suffocate from the smoke before the flames could reach her, granting her a painless death …_

Hermione was horrified. She felt like she was going to be sick, yet her eyes continued down the page:

_… Other places, such as Scandinavia, saw the use of the ‘ladder method’ where the witch was tied to a ladder which was then toppled into the prepared bonfires –_

She threw the book across the room. It hit the floor with a thud. Examining the titles of the other books on the shelf, she found that they all had words like ‘purity’, ‘lineage’ and ‘supremacy’ in them.

She kicked the shelf, knocking over most of the books. Bloody pureblood propaganda. She resented the Malfoys and their twisted ideology. Now they were trying to brainwash _her_ as well? It was ridiculous.

Yes, her ancestors had done many horrible things, but they had been blinded by religion and superstition. The witch trials were a shameful chapter in Muggle history, but people hadn’t known any better back then. There was a reason it was often referred to as the Dark Ages. People weren’t enlightened back then. You couldn’t blame them for their lack of knowledge.

Besides, wizards and witches had committed terrible acts as well. One needed look no further than the countless wars that had taken place throughout wizarding history. Not that she expected pureblood fanatics to understand something like that. People like Malfoy weren’t open to other point of views. That much was clear from their conversation earlier. Although she was trying to help him – _forced_ to, she reminded herself – he didn’t think that he owed her anything. In his eyes, she was nothing but an abomination. A disruption in the natural world order. How could he think that he was above her just because of his blood? He had been so eager to prove that he was right. Did he seriously believe that he would be able to convince her?

She sat down on the bed, staring at the door.

Malfoy had been brainwashed all his life. The pureblood mantras had been edged into his mind since before he could walk. His first words had probably been ‘Mudblood’ or ‘Blood traitor’. It was impossible to have a discussion with someone like that. Still, she would stand her ground. She would continue fighting for her beliefs until the day she died.

A lump started forming in her through. _The day she died_. Perhaps that day would come sooner than she’d expected. Once she’d helped Draco get his powers back – if that was even possible – the Malfoys would dispose of her, she was sure of it.

She had always known that death could be sudden. During her years at Hogwarts, she’d been exposed to danger many times. More than once she’d been close to death. But it was different back then. She’d had her friends to rely on. Now she was on her own, trapped in a basement, confined to an area that had just been limited further. And her options were shrinking, too.

No.

She got up from the bed. It would be so easy to give in to the sinking feeling of despair that was enveloping her, but she refused. Even though she couldn’t think of a way to escape the situation right now, she would was sure she’d come up with something in time.

Slowly, she approached the door, trying the door handle again.

Still locked.

“Malfoy?”

She rapped her knuckles softly against the wood. There was no answer, which made her wonder if he was asleep. She wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. Sleeping seemed like the only way to kill time down here.

“Malfoy?” she repeated, a bit louder this time.

There was a noise on the other side of the door. Footsteps approached.

“What is it, Granger?”

She could tell he was cranky.

“Please unlock the door.”

Perhaps softening her demeanor would make him let her out.

“Why should I?”

An idea shot through her brain.

“I … I have to go to the bathroom.”

It was quiet for a few seconds. Then she heard the key being inserted into the lock. It turned, and the door was opened. She sighed with relief. At least he didn’t deprive her of _that_ fundamental right.

“Why are you just standing there?” He grimaced. “We can’t have you making a mess. Come on.”

He gestured toward the corridor. She stepped outside, enjoying the feeling of being free again (the irony of the feeling was not lost on her). She followed Malfoy until they reached a door on the right.

She was about to step onto the tiled floor of the bathroom when she noticed something that made her hesitate. Her reluctance didn’t escape Malfoy’s attention.

“What are you waiting for?”

She nodded toward the lock.

“There’s no key.”

A small smile spread on his face.

“Yes, there is. _I_ have a key. It fits all the doors in here.”

 _Except for the one leading out of this bloody basement,_ she thought.

“Then give it to me,” she demanded, holding out her palm to him.

“And risk you locking me in? I don’t think so.”

She felt the raw burn of anger in her gut once more.

“If you think I would ever think of using the same tricks as you –“

“I’m not giving you the key, Granger.”

She took a deep breath.

“Malfoy, if we’re going to be living together 24 hours a day, we have to share the key. I need some privacy. What if I have to take a shower and –“

He snorted.

“Yeah, what then?”

She opened her mouth, but no sounds came out. For once she didn’t have something to throw back in his face.

“Why would I care about you taking a shower? Do you think it interests me?”

Heat started to spread in her cheeks.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” she said, cursing herself for blushing. “What if you don’t notice and come bursting in while I –“

“Somehow I don’t think that was your concern.” He took a step closer and she instinctively stepped backwards. His eyes were like blades of ice. “You were afraid that I was going to lurk, weren’t you?”

She blinked, trying to keep her face steady. That was exactly what she’d been worried about, but of course she wouldn’t reveal that at any cost. His face contorted with disgust.

“Ha! You’re pathetic, Granger. You might be female and the only company I’ve got, but I would never even think of doing something like that. Just the thought of it makes me want to barf.” His eyes ran over her, and she fought now to wince. “I wouldn’t touch you even if your blood was pure. I don’t get how _anyone_ could find you attractive.”

He might as well have spat her in the face. The heat of embarrassment disappeared from her face, being replaced with cold anger. He made a motion toward the door.

“Go.”

When she didn’t react, he shoved her through the door. She tumbled across the tiles, too stunned by his degrading words to complain about the treatment. The door slammed behind her, a wave of air hitting her back.

She sat down on the floor, pulling her legs up and hugging them to her chest. Humiliation burned through her veins.

She knew that she wasn’t exactly what people would consider beautiful, but she wasn’t disgusting like Malfoy had just implied. Viktor Krum had complimented her appearance at the Yule Ball and Cormac’s behavior last year hadn’t left any doubt that he found her attractive. And Ron –

She bit her lip, shoving the thought away. She couldn’t bear to think of Ron right now.

It didn’t matter anyway. She shouldn’t care what Malfoy thought of her, but - even though she hated him - the words had hurt. Resting her forehead against her knees, she exhaled silently, trying to forget about it all.

* * *

Hermione stared at the book in front of her. She had been reading a chapter about rare spells, but it said nothing about binding magic or limiting a witch or wizard’s powers. Sighing loudly, she turned a page, starting on the next chapter. It was unlikely to contain any useful information, but you never knew. Maybe she would stumble across a reference that might be relevant.

It was hardly any surprise that she hadn’t able to find anything. Lucius Malfoy had said that the spell that had hit his son was unknown. He’d investigated it himself, and yet he expected _her_ to get some sort of epiphany.

How ironic that the Malfoys needed the brains of a “Mudblood” to figure out a solution to their problem ...

She looked at Draco, who was sitting in the chair a couple of feet away from her. He’d been in here ever since she’d entered the library. A few times he’d made a derisive remark, but she had pretended not to hear him. After what had happened yesterday, she had decided to ignore him. It was by no means difficult. She’d become immune to distractions after all the evenings sitting in Gryffindor’s common room, trying to study while Harry and Ron engaged in conversations about Quidditch in the background.

The memory of her friends made her heart ache.

She missed them so much. She tried blocking out the thought of them, but it seemed impossible right now. Were they alright? How had they reacted to her disappearance? She remembered what Lucius Malfoy had said: The rest of the world thought she was dead. Did her friends believe that too or did they have hope that she was still out there somewhere? They had to know that her disappearance was related to the fight in Godric’s Hollow. Her only hope was that they’d somehow manage to capture Lucius Malfoy and force her location out of him. But even if they did, she doubted that he would reveal that he kept her trapped in a secret section of Malfoy Manor.

Part of her hoped that they wouldn’t spend too much time investigating her disappearance. They should focus on the mission: finding and destroying the remaining parts of Voldemort’s soul. But how would they be able to do that without her? She’d always been the one who figured out the puzzles, which was exactly why she’d ended up here.

But right now, her skills weren’t of much use. She had nothing to go on. She lacked information.

A thought struck her.

She turned her head and looked at Malfoy.

“Describe what happened,” she said.

The expression of surprise on his face almost made her laugh.

”What?”

”Describe what happened at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. When you dueled Fred and George.”

Malfoy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. She gave him a small nod of encouragement.

“We arrived during the reception,” he began, smiling joylessly. “As I’m sure you remember.”

She dropped her gaze. She remembered it all too well.

”It didn’t take long for the Aurors to draw their wands, but we did manage to eliminate a couple of them.”

Hermione, who was still looking down, couldn’t help but shudder. He sounded so … pleased as he recalled the events.

“At the beginning, I was dueling Lupin, but he got busy coming to his girlfriend’s rescue. And then the two idiots attacked me.”

Her anger started rising, but she suppressed it. She needed to hear his version of the story. Letting her emotions get the best of her would most likely result in the chance passing her by.

“I threw myself behind a table to avoid getting hit. When I got up, I tried to cast the Cruciatus on one of the twins, but he dodged it.”

She looked up. Malfoy snorted.

“What? Don’t tell me that you’re shocked that I used an Unforgivable, Granger.” The corner of his mouth turned up in a mocking smile. “I’m flattered by your faith in me.”

“Continue,” she said coolly.

The smile disappeared from his face. She could tell his thoughts drifted back to the fight again.

“ … anyway, he dodged my curse. And then I realized that his brother had sneaked up behind me and was about to attack. The other twin fired a spell as well. I jumped to the side, but I wasn’t fast enough. Both spells hit me mid-air.”

Hermione blinked in surprise.

“Both spells?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of spells were they?”

“Stunning spells. They hit me at the same time.”

“At the same time?”

“Yes, Granger.” His voice was thick with irritation. “Do you always repeat what other people say as a question?”

She _refused_ to be provoked.

“Go on.”

He sighed, resuming his recount of the events.

“When I landed on the floor, I wondered why I hadn’t been knocked unconscious, but I didn’t really have time to think about it. I got up and tried to cast a curse, but nothing happened.” She saw that he had clenched his fists. “At first, I thought I’d gotten the wrist movement wrong, so I tried again with the same results. That’s when I started realizing that something was wrong, so I hurried outside and found my father.”

He fell silent. She gave a short nod.

“Thank you.”

She considered the new information. Earlier she’d wondered which one of the twins had hit him. Now, she knew that it had been both of them. And it had been a stunning spell, so there had been no kind of advanced magic involved. She was sure they hadn’t intended to rob Malfoy of his powers.

At least that was _something_ , she thought, turning her attention to the books once again.

* * *

Hermione yawned silently. She squinted against the darkness, wondering what had woken her up. She soon got her answer.

Voices.

They were so low that she was barely able to hear them, but they were there, and they were coming from the corridor. As quietly as possible, she got up from the bed. The floor was cold against her bare feet as she tiptoed to the door and pressed her ear against it.

“… if we don’t find a way to lift it.”

A woman’s voice. _Narcissa Malfoy._ Hermione didn’t remember ever hearing the woman speak before, but since no one but Narcissa and Lucius knew about this place, it had to be her.

“The Dark Lord is starting to get suspicious. He thinks that you weren’t trapped by the Order but joined them willingly.”

“How can he even _think_ that?” Malfoy sounded deeply offended.

“Oh, Draco, I don’t know what to do.” Narcissa’s voice was thick with despair. “We’ve been working on finding a solution for months …”

“Granger’s handling it now. She’ll find a way to lift the spell.” In spite of his words, Malfoy didn’t sound particularly convinced. 

”What if she is unsuccessful? What if it isn’t possible?”

A strange sound billowed through the darkness. It took a few seconds for Hermione to realize what it was. Narcissa Malfoy was crying.

“Mother … don’t.”

Malfoy almost sounded like he was pleading. Hermione swallowed. She had never heard him sound like that before. In fact, she didn’t recall him displaying any other emotions than hate, fear and pompous arrogance.

“I think she made progress today,” he whispered as Narcissa’s sobs started to subside. “She wrote down a lot of notes. She’ll sort it all out, you’ll see –“

“But –“

“It will be alright. I promise.” This time he spoke with more conviction. “But you have to go now. The others will start to wonder if you’re away for too long.”

”Yes, I must go.” Narcissa sounded more composed now. “But I don’t know when I’ll be back. The Dark Lord has plans for me.” A small pause. “I know how frustrating this must be for you …”

“I’ll be fine. It’s not as bad down here as you think.”

”You are so brave, Draco. If only I could be as brave as you.”

“You can. And now it’s time for you to go up there and show it.”

Narcissa said nothing, but Hermione could picture her nodding. After a few second, footsteps echoed through the corridor.

“Stay strong.”

Narcissa’s voice wavered with barely suppressed tears. A door opened with a low-pitched creak, then closed again. Hermione heard Malfoy curse under his breath. She realized that she was breathing heavily and pressed her hand to her mouth to smother the sound. If he found out she was eavesdropping, he would do more than just lock her in again.

Slowly, she backed away from the door. She was aware that she had just witnessed something far too intimate. She wasn't supposed to spy on tear-filled conversations like that.

Guilty conscience aside, she was glad that she had overheard them. Malfoy and Narcissa's words had revealed that the two of them were close, which was somewhat reassuring. It proved that they had _some_ humanity in them. It puzzled her how they could empathize with each other, yet be completely unfeeling when it came to her. How were they able to compartmentalize like that? Somehow they were able to turn off their compassion.

Still, the glimpse of vulnerability in Malfoy’s voice had given her hope. Maybe with time she would manage to convince him that she was a human being and not just a "Mudblood".

She crawled back into bed, knowing that sleep wouldn’t come to her for a long while.


	4. Hesitation

Draco had just woken up. He felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. Even in his dreams, his mind was buzzing with worry. The first couple of days after his parents had hidden him here, he had been disoriented when waking up, not remembering what had happened at first. Then it’d hit him like a gut punch.

But it wasn’t like that anymore. Now he never forgot about the reality of the situation. He was painfully aware of it, misery wrapping him like a heavy cloak. And yet he had spent last night trying to convince his mother that everything was going to be okay.

Maybe he would manage to convince himself if only he tried hard enough. Sometimes he almost succeeded, just to be overwhelmed by the hopelessness of it all. He felt like an animal wandering back and forth in its cage. There was nothing he could do to change things, and it was driving him mad.

And as if that wasn’t enough, now he had to deal with Granger. He was trapped down here with that insufferable Mudblood. Her attitude was one big provocation. She was convinced that she was better than him, acting all superior when she should be groveling at his feet. The thought filled him with rage.

Oh, how he hated her.

At least he could cling to _that_ to avoid turning mad. He felt hatred bubble in his stomach. His loathing for Granger drowned out the feeling of powerlessness and his urge to scream out loud with frustration. He took a deep breath, knowing he had to find her as soon as possible to make sure that the intoxicating feeling of hatred would last.

Quickly he got dressed and left the room.

He wasn’t surprised to find her sitting in the library with her nose in a book. Wet strands of hair clung to her face, revealing that she had just taken a shower.

“Good morning, Mudblood,” he said, marching into the room.

To his surprise he wasn’t met with anger or annoyance. Her gaze only revealed a faint indifference.

Strange.

“I hope you’ve gotten some sleep.” He threw himself into the chair. “We wouldn’t want you to be too exhausted to work, would we?”

“I’ve slept miserably,” she replied, studying the pages of the book. “Not more than a couple of hours, I think. It’s hard to tell.”

Yes, he thought bitterly. Keeping track of time was impossible down here. Last night he had asked his mother to bring him a watch. She had promised to see what she could do, but he tried not to get his hopes up.

”How far have you gotten?” he asked, nodding towards the stack of notes on the desk.

“Not much further than the last time you asked.”

Hopelessness spread through his chest, but he refused to let it consume him. Instead he focused on getting some enjoyment out of the situation. He leaned back in the chair, folding his hands behind his head.

”Really? I must say that I’m disappointed, Granger. I would have thought you’d made _some_ progress by now.”

He watched as irritation flickered across her face.

“It’s not _my_ fault that you’ve given me an impossible task.”

“What about the things I told you yesterday? Was none of that helpful? Does that mean that I wasted my time talking to you? I certainly hope not. You know that I don’t want to exchange more words with you than absolutely necessary.”

She raised her head, eyes shining with anger. A smile spread on his lips in anticipation. Oh yes, _there it was_.

But then the anger disappeared. She shifted in the chair, her mouth opening and closing a few times in hesitation.

“Do you want to help me?” The words tumbled out so fast that he could barely hear them.

He stared at her, completely befuddled. She wanted _him_ to assist her?

“Why on earth would I want to help you?” he asked, aware that he sounded more surprised than scornful.

Her eyes flickered briefly.

“I thought you might want to contribute with something. Other than making snide remarks.”

He gave a loud snort.

“Forget it.”

“But you’re just sitting there, doing nothing,” she exclaimed.

“That’s not the point! _You_ work for _me_ , which means that –“

“I work for you father,” she cut him off.

“You work for _us_ ,” he continued, “which means that _you_ have to do the work. Besides, I would never lower myself to work with a Mudblood.”

Her lips set into a firm line.

“Fine. Forget that I asked,” she said, turning her attention to her notes. She ran her fingers through her damp curls, a few drops hitting the parchment. “I was just trying to be –“

She stopped herself. A barely audible sigh left her lips. Without finishing the sentence, she dipped her pen in the inkpot and continued to scribble down notes.

 _Friendly_.

The unspoken word echoed through his mind. Why on earth was she trying to be friendly? He hadn’t given her the slightest cause to think that he would want anything like that. He studied her carefully. Perhaps this was some sort of trap. She tried to win his trust so that he would somehow let her out of here. How pathetic that she even thought he would fall for something like that.

His mouth curled into a smirk. For a moment he’d almost forgotten what he came here for.

“I enjoy seeing you work, Mudblood,” he said. “Although we plan on exterminating your kind after winning the war, I think we should keep a few of you around. Just those of you that are fit for manual labor. You could work alongside the house-elves.”

He awaited her reaction, but none came. She didn’t even look up. The smile disappeared from his face. He needed her to react. He needed to focus something other than the growing hopelessness that threatened to engulf him.

“Or maybe it would be wrong to let you work with the house-elves. You belong in different categories after all. They are magical creatures whereas people like you don’t contain a single drop of magical blood.”

She didn’t even blink, still appearing absorbed in her work. He cursed inwardly.

“At least house-elves know their place in the world. Their only goal in life is to serve us.”

Still no reaction.

“We’re above them, just as we’re above you by virtue of our blood. Our blood is what makes us worthy of practicing magic. It’s what makes us better than you, and you know that. I’ve seen it myself.”

She raised her eyes, looking at him at him.

“What do you mean?”

Ah. _Finally_ he caught her interest.

“Why do you think you’ve always worked so hard in school?” he asked, enjoying the feeling of having her attention. “Somewhere deep down, you know you’re worth less than real witches and wizards. So of course you try to compensate by being best at everything.”

“That’s not true.” Her shoulders tensed visibly. “I care about school because I find the subjects interesting.”

“Can you honestly say that your constant need to prove yourself has nothing to do with the fact that you feel insecure?”

She hesitated. It lasted less than a second, but he saw it.

“You can behave like a witch, Granger, but you’ll never be one.”

”I _am_ a witch.” Her gaze flashed with anger. “And once I get out of here and get my hands on a wand, I’ll prove it to you.” Her eyes narrowed. ”You know what this is really about? The fact that I always did better than you in school. You can’t stand that I’m smarter than you, so you have to come up with some absurd explanation for it.”

Her arrogance knocked the air from his lungs. He felt his face tighten with fury. Now Granger was the one to smile.

“It bothers you, doesn’t it? I’m sure that your father was very disappointed to know that I always bested you.”

Draco froze, his father’s voice ringing through his ears:

_‘I would have thought you’d be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam.’_

The words had made his twelve year old face burn with humiliation. He had sworn to do better than Granger at their next exam, studying all night to master every single spell, yet she’d been the only one in their class to receive top marks, surpassing him once again.

He stared at Granger.

“Don’t you dare bring my father into this,” he snarled.

“Does that mean that I’m right?”

He gripped the arm rest of the chair tightly, remaining silent.

“I think you and your father are scared of me,” she continued. “Well, not _me_ specifically, but the group that I represent. We come into “your” world” - her fingers made air quotes around the word - “and turn out to be competent witches and wizards. And yes, in some cases, we might even be better than you. And that scares you. You’re afraid you’ll lose the status you’ve held for centuries and all the privileges that come with it.”

“A status that is rightfully ours!” His voice trembled with anger. Realizing it sounded as if he was confirming her theory, he hurried to add: “And of course we aren’t afraid. If all Muggles are like you, we don’t have to worry one bit. You may have a bit of brain, but you have no money, no connections and no social skills worth mentioning.”

He could tell that the last words struck a nerve, so he quickly continued:

“The only people who spend time with you willingly are Potter and the Weasel, and they probably only use to do better in school.” The smile returned to his face. “How does it feel to know that people only seek you out when they need help with their homework?”

“Harry and Ron are my friends because they like me. Not that I expect _you_ to understand something like that. You think everything is about using people.”

”Of course it is. People are egoistical by nature. Only naïve Gryffindors like you would try to deny that.”

“I’d rather be a naïve Gryffindor than a spoiled prat like you, who has never experienced true friendship.” She was quiet for a few seconds, a low sigh escaping her. “You know what, Malfoy? I pity you.”

“And I pity _you_ for being so credulous, Mudblood,” he spat, getting up from the chair. “I think I’ll leave you to your work now.”

Without looking back at her, he left the room, slamming the door behind him. Blood roaring in his ears, he wandered through the corridor.

She pitied him? _She_ pitied _him_?

Her arrogance was infuriating. Not only did she insist that her sick worldview was the right one. Now she had the audacity to feel sorry for him - as if he lacked something.

He paused, running a hand through his hair to calm himself.

Her ideas about friendship were pathetic. He had friends, of course, but he didn’t delude himself into thinking that those relationships were motivated by anything but self-interest. At Hogwarts, he’d been respected and admired by his fellow Slytherins thanks to his father’s reputation. People had looked up to him, perhaps even feared him. And now Granger dared insinuate that all none of that was real.

He inhaled slowly.

He had sought her out to make her furious, yet _she_ was the one to get under _his_ skin. How come she was able to turn everything on its head like that? It wasn’t as if he believed her. He rested his palm against the cool stonewall, sighing loudly.

He had to find another way to pass time.

* * *

He didn’t seek her out the next couple of days, knowing that she would probably manage to make him fly off the handle again if he did. The few times they were in the same room together he spoke to her as little as possible. Although they didn’t interact much, he made sure to use _the word_ whenever they did.

_Mudblood._

It was the only word that managed to stir some kind of reaction in her.

Although she glared daggers at him, she never said anything. It bothered him that she was able to curb her anger when he wasn’t. He realized that he had to get a hold on himself. He couldn’t allow a Muggle like her to appear more in control than him. So he kept his distance, aware he had to face her with the superiority and stoic demeanor of a Pureblood.

* * *

And then, one day, she approached him. He was sitting in the kitchen, finishing a meal. He eyed her as she got closer and couldn’t help but notice the almost apologetic way that she dragged her feet across the floor. She stopped in front of him, looking at him with hesitation.

”What is it, Mudblood?”

“I …”

Her cheeks turned pink. He realized that she was wringing her hands.

“What?” he repeated.

She took a deep breath. A look of embarrassment flashed across her face.

“I’ve -” she began, her voice failing her. “I’ve just gotten my …”

He froze, his face contorting in disgust as it became clear what she was trying to say. She looked away briefly, shifting the weight from one foot to the other.

“What … what am I supposed to do?” she asked in a frail voice.

Her eyes darted up to meet his. He caught a glimpse of desperation.

“Why are you asking me? _You’re_ the one who is a girl!”

“But I don’t have anything to … I can’t –“

The words tumbled awkwardly from her lips.

He rolled his eyes. Why was this _his_ problem all of a sudden?

He got up so fast that the chair almost fell over.

“Go to the bathroom,” he said.

“But I –“

“Just do it!”

To his surprise, she did as he said, disappearing through the bathroom door at once. If only she would be that obedient all the time. He left the kitchen and walked through the corridor, stopping in front of the door at the end, rapping his knuckles three times against the wood.

“Libby,” he whispered. “I need to speak with you.”

A few seconds later, there was a ‘plop’. He turned, looking at the house-elf that had just arrived. It was standing in the middle of the corridor, looking at him with its bulging eyes. His parents had said that he was only allowed to summon the creature in case of emergency – and if this wasn’t an emergency, he didn’t know what was.

“What does young Master want?” the elf asked in a squeaky voice.

“Go talk to Granger,” he said, pointing towards the bathroom. “You need to … get something for her.”

If possible, the eyes of the elf got even bigger.

“But … Master and Mistress always say that people like her –“

“I know what they say!” he hissed. “It doesn’t matter right now, alright? Go in there and ask her what she needs. But don’t let her out of here. If she makes any request of that sort, you ignore her, you understand?”

The elf nodded and dashed into the bathroom, leaving him alone in the corridor. He leaned against the wall, sighing deeply. Granger’s little problem made him sick. As if she wasn’t repulsive enough already. Normally, he appreciated the female body, but he didn’t care for _that_ aspect of it at all. Actually, he was perfectly fine pretending it didn’t exist.

With a shudder, he pushed himself away from the wall and headed to his room. He threw himself on the bed, staring up into the ceiling.

Strange how Granger’s bodily functions scared him almost as much as the thought of the Dark Lord.


End file.
